The Bodyguard: A BWWM Bad Body Romance(23)

Leaning against the railing of the front porch in the early morning light, he considered the cigarette in his hand. He had never really been a smoker. It was more of a stress thing - and considering his line of work, even his own doctor hadn’t been able to tell him outright to give up the few smokes he had in a week.

Over the previous night, he had smoked half a pack while he sat outside and ruminated about the woman not ten feet from him.

How the hell did Juliet sleep after recounting a story like that? When she first started talking, she’d put up a brave front - braver than he’d seen in most women who’d been through similar situations. But eventually, her body bore the brunt of the emotional trauma, even if she refused to break down completely. Her hands shook. Tears coursed down her face. Her voice trembled...and that godawful, haunted look in her eyes.

How the hell was he supposed to be immune to that?

Several times during the night, he wondered if he should check on her. From what he’d seen, she hadn’t come back out of her room once Simmons left - not even to eat dinner. It was times like these when someone usually went in and said something.

But what the fuck was he supposed to say? Hank’s interactions with women over the years were limited to fucking and leaving. He might have had a handful of relationships that lasted more than a week but women inevitably got fed up with him for being far more absorbed in his job than he was in the idea of romance. For his part, Hank had always known that it was ludicrous to try and drag a woman into a life like his. He never knew when he would or wouldn’t be working, and when he was on a case, he put his life on the line near fucking daily.

That said, Hank realized that Juliet Brown wasn’t like the women he dated. She was, in a word, damaged goods. It was an ugly term to use, but he hardly meant it in a derogatory sense. Juliet herself had admitted that she’d gone through hell and come out on the other side. She was in equal parts more vulnerable and stronger than any woman he’d ever encountered...and that was what drew him in.

Of course Hank questioned it. It was beyond fucked up to be attracted to the woman whose life he held in his hands. She’d just told him how her previous lover had warped and manipulated her until she was basically a shadow of her former self. One would think his dick would stand down after that. Juliet didn’t need someone drooling after her - she needed a therapist and a few years vacation in the Caribbean somewhere.

And yet, here he was, wondering how long he could hold out. The sun would be coming up soon, and she’d need breakfast - especially if she hadn’t had dinner. He hated to contemplate it, but Solomon Aguiler wasn’t the only evil he was supposed to be protecting her from. Simmons had warned him that someone like Juliet might be at a higher risk for self-harm, and if he caught her at it, he’d have to report it.

But somehow, Hank couldn’t see it. After years of letting someone else abuse her emotionally and physically, he doubted Juliet would continue the torture on herself….but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t check on her. Though it was rare, his instincts had been wrong before.

With a sigh, Hank crushed his seventh cigarette underfoot. From here, he could just barely see the sheen of Crowley and Bosh’s cars at the end of the driveway. Hopefully, they weren’t sleeping on the job. He sure as hell wasn’t.

When he reached Juliet’s door, he raised his hand to knock before hesitating. He still didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to say. Hank knocked.

He was surprised when Juliet answered almost immediately. “Yeah?”

Hank’s brows shot to his hairline. “You’re up this early?”

A long beat passed before Juliet’s answer came, muffled, through the door. “I still haven’t slept.” Immediately, he frowned. Juliet’s sleep cycles weren’t any of his business. It was his job to make sure she ate properly, held up her end of the bargain, and didn’t off herself or attempt to get back to her ex.

But somehow, the notion of her tossing and turning didn’t sit well with him. “Can I come in?”

Hank told himself that he was just checking to see if she’d hurt herself. That was all.

“...Yeah.” Steeling himself, he opened the door.

The only light in the room came from early morning sun, which had just begun to rise. Juliet sat in the center of her bed, her back pressed against the wall, her knees hugged close to her chest. Hank swallowed thickly at the amount of leg her short nightgown revealed before taking a step into the room. “Hey.”

All that prep, and his greeting was a single word. Fucking idiot.

“Hi.” Juliet looked up at him, a weak smile curving her full mouth. “You been up all night too?”

“Not a great sleeper either.” Hank rumbled, glancing over the interior of the room. He hadn’t bothered to do anything much to his own room. He knew the accommodations were temporary. He’d brought a single suitcase for the essentials and that was it. Juliet, however, had made her room her own with the few things they brought her. There was a pot of lilies in the window and a few notebooks stacked on the desk. Clothes that had yet to be put away were stacked on top of a weathered dresser and a guitar that looked half an age old leaned against the closet door. “Did you ask for all this shit?”

The young woman laughed softly. “I think I held back pretty well, considering I haven’t had anything of my own for a while.”